Miracle
by Samantha
Summary: Miracles are the rarest form of gifts, and Harry is going to recieve one and not even know it. Please, Read and Review!
1. Part One

A/N: READ! Please! I dreamt this story; and my best stories usually come from dreams.  
  
"You never really know  
  
What it is  
  
Not until it goes  
  
And if it comes again  
  
It's a miracle"  
  
-Vertical Horizon, "Miracle"  
  
  
Morgan's dark, curly hair fell far below her shoulders. He had loved her hair. The chocolate spirals stayed perfectly in place, never frizzy, yet they never looked stiff and unnatural. He remember when he first saw her; he had seen her back only, and had fallen in love with her hair. Morgan had intense eyes that resembled the sea; they were blue on days, green on others, yet at times seemed more gray than anything else. She had a cute rabbit nose, tiny hands and feet, and a ivory complexion. Morgan was thin, but never skinny. She had a thick, curvy build, which, on the stature of five foot five, gave her a strong appearance. All these features together, Morgan was a strikingly beautiful woman. He had loved her.  
  
He remembered the day he killed her. She had been sitting on his bed- it was their bed, wasn't it? The two lovers had practically been living together for three and a half years now- she had been sorting through pictures. Pictures of them together, pictures of her deceased parents, pictures of her friends. She had put them down when he had entered the room, getting up to hug him, kiss him, ask him how his day was.  
  
He hadn't wanted to do it. He had loved Morgan- but there was no love. Remember? There was no love. Love was something that people made up to try and rationalize their existence on this planet. No one loves. Still, it was hard to ignore the look of kindness in Morgan's eyes, the way her entire face lit up when she saw him. But no one loves. There was no love. Their relationship was based one what they wanted it to be, not reality. He had wanted love, needed love, and he had thought he had received it. There was no love to receive. He owed his life to the man-no, the lord-who had taught him such an important lesson, who had taught him the truths of the world.  
  
No one loves. He repeated that phrase over and over as Morgan hugged his body and massaged his mouth with her own. He ignored her smile, the light shining through her eyes, her lips, her everything. He abruptly pushed her aside and disregarded her inquires of concern. She was never scared, he acknowledged. Even at the end, she was never scared. Yes, Morgan was brave. That was why she died.  
  
As he drew his wand from his pocket and pointed it at her. She again repeated her questions, this time with more force, as she was talking to a business partner instead of a lover. He ignored her again. He was going to kill her. He was. He took one last glance, one last gaze at the woman he thought he loved before he was brought to the fact that their love was fake. Everything he had known was fake. He took in her curly mane, her ocean eyes, her strong build, her cute nose. Why? He asked himself. Why am I doing this? Morgan was the closest to absolute goodness that he had ever known. She was the best he had ever come into contact with. Why was he about to kill her?  
  
His parents were bad because they died and left him with the Dursleys.  
  
The Dursleys were bad for obvious reasons.  
  
Dumbledore was bad because he steered him wrong. He told him to avenge his parent's deaths, when they were the ones who had betrayed him.  
  
Sirius was bad because he too deserted him. He fled the country after Dememtors almost caught him and was too scared to write.   
  
Hermione was bad because she never loved him back. After he had given up on Cho, he had realized he loved Hermione. No, she loved Ron.  
  
Ron was bad because he stole the only thing that he had ever wanted, ever loved. No, he told himself, there is no love. Love does not exist. Yet even if love does not exist, it was the principle of the matter which made Ron bad.  
  
And here was Morgan. He glanced at her, his emerald eyes blazing into her blue-green gray, and heard the words of his new mentor echoing in his head. She is bad too. Morgan was bad because she was an auror. She was bad because she was brave and smart and knew too much. She was on the opposing team, the other end of the rainbow. She deserved to die.  
  
So he killed her. He whispered the words and Morgan fell to the floor. It's a shame, he thought. She certainly was pretty, if not beautiful. His heart ached with guilt, more guilt than he had ever felt at any of his other killings. Love does not exist. No one loves; it does not exist. He repeated the statements out loud, each going in one ear and going out the other. He touched her hair, and a tear drop fell from his eye. No! He hadn't cried in ages; he wasn't about to start now. The tear made him finish the job in haste; he created the dark mark and made it float above their little townhouse.  
  
He started to leave. No one would ever catch him. No one would ever pin hero boy to Morgan's death. He would be the lover in mourning, the one crying at the funeral. The one to never expect. He was going to get away with this scot-free, and somehow, that made him feel even more guilty. Do you want to be caught? Murdered for treason? Murdered for murder? No, he concluded.  
  
He had gotten to the door when he heard the baby cry.  
  
***  
  
Harry Potter woke up with a start. He quickly turned to his right, but the place next to him on the king bed was vacant. He sighed and buried his head in his pillow. That same nightmare was playing again and again in his head, night after night, the same way as the dream of his parent's death. It kept on getting more and more vivid each time he dreamt it. The smell of perfume, the thump as the body hit the floor, each grew stronger and stronger as the days went by.   
  
Knowing he wouldn't get back to sleep, he got out of bed and walked into his kitchen. He started rummaging through the cabinets and pantry, trying to find a bowl and cereal. The lights hurt his eyes, so he was trying to find these things in the dark of the night. What time is it anyway? He looked at the clock on the oven; it read three o'clock in the morning. He fished through the pantry for the cereal. He pulled out a box of Rice Chex, then threw them on the floor. Who eats this crap anyway? He asked. Oh, yeah, Morgan did. He pulled out the Fruit Loops and started eating them straight out of the box.  
  
He sat in the dark kitchen, gorging on cereal one wasn't supposed to eat if they were over twelve. The room was a royal mess. It had been six months since Morgan had been murdered and Harry had turned into a total slob. Morgan had at least managed to keep him in line, but without her, he didn't care in the least what his flat looked like. It could be overrun with cockroaches and rats and fleas for as much as he cared. Hermione would have been disgusted if she had heard him speak like that.  
  
Oh yeah, Harry reminded himself. Hermione and Ron are to be married next month; you're his best man. Remember? Harry had forgotten, but he had most likely made himself forget. One of the most helpful abilities he had received in his line of work was the ability to forget. Harry frowned. You owe them; do it. Go to the stupid wedding and at least act like you're having fun. You owe them.  
  
Harry did owe Hermione and Ron a big favor. They had been taking care Jamie, Morgan's child. And to be politically correct, Harry's child. Perhaps a month before her death, Morgan had given birth to their child, the very one that Harry had suggested that she abort. Morgan had refused, and insisted that the child be named after Harry's father. Damn bastard doesn't deserve my kid's name, thought Harry. After Morgan died, he had thrown Jamie onto Hermione and Ron, telling them that he was too upset to be a father. Harry hardly did much of anything anymore; he went to his job at the Ministry, he watched television, and he ate his meals over the sink. He had only gotten to shave for the first time in six months the day before. The smoothness felt odd in contrast to the shaggy beard he had grown accustom to.  
  
Harry hadn't married Morgan when he had found out she was pregnant because he knew that she was going to be killed. She couldn't live. He wanted for her to be murdered then, to kill the baby also. But his lord told him not; the child would be a powerful asset to their plans. So Harry had gone through it; he had held Morgan's hand in the delivery room, trying to ignore the fact that in a month or so, she would be dead.  
  
How stupid was Morgan anyway? Didn't she know that she was going to be killed? Harry pondered that; Morgan was one of the smartest people he had ever known. After all, Hermione had been the one who had introduced them four years ago at a party. Both were aurors. Most people wondered why Harry wasn't one; he was something else, something they never would expect. But, back to the point, Morgan was smart. The murder seemed almost to good to be true. She was stupid to trust him, stupid to ignore the obvious, stupid to offer him unconditional love. Yet Morgan wasn't stupid, and that fact left a ringing in his ears which was both unpleasant and redundant.  
  
Harry stumbled into his living room, his thoughts jumbled and stirred together so that they were indistinguishable. He flopped on his couch, the leather rubbing against his skin. His horrible, impure skin. He felt dirty, cheap, EMPTY. His inner parts had been scooped out of him and thrown on the floor before him. He wanted to throw up, vomit, purge himself of all his actions. He also craved release; he wanted to let go, to find an outlet for his anger at the world. He didn't want to kill anyone to find this outlet, the consequential guilt would be too much to handle.  
  
So he picked up a glass mug which was sitting on the coffee table, as he had been to lazy to take it into the kitchen. Harry threw it at the opposite wall. He felt no change. He stormed into the kitchen, grabbed another glass mug from the sink, and plumaged it down on top of his hand. The glass shattered, each fragment scraping his hand and creating lines of scarlet liquid to run from the cuts. Harry watched his hand numbly for a minute, waiting for the pain to come. Eventually, his wounds did start stinging, aching. His eyes followed the rivers of blood as they dripped down his hand to the floor below. Drip, drip, drip. He stood there, stationary, until the flow of blood subsided. He grabbed his wand, repaired his fractured skin, then went down the hall to bed with a smile on his face.  
  
***  
  
Harry awoke to the doorbell. He was laying face down on his bed, the gray-blue sheets partially covering his body. Light flooded through the windows; birds could be heard chirping outside. It was a warm, crisp fall morning. The leaves were beginning to change; the air smelled of pumpkin and was so fresh it burned one's nostrils if too much was inhaled at a time.   
  
The doorbell rang again. Harry reluctantly crawled out of bed and walked down the hallway to the front door. On his way there, the doorbell rang yet another time. "Damn," he grumbled. "I'm coming."  
  
He swung the door open to see Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley standing on his front stoop. Hermione stood tall and distinguished for her short stature of five foot three; she wore jeans and a navy cardigan over a plain white T-shirt. With her chestnut brown hair pulled back into a bun, she managed to look pulled together and proper in even the most casual of clothing. Ron, dressed in a pair of khakis and green shirt, looked equally neat. His fiery red hair and freckled gave him a more of a juvenile look for his twenty-seven years. Neither of them was smiling.  
  
"What's up?" Harry asked lazily. He felt amazingly out of place dressed only in a pair of pajama pants and gray T-shirt.   
  
Hermione nor Ron had a response. It was only then when Harry realized that Ron was holding little Jamie, wrapped in a blanket to keep him warm.  
  
***  
  
"Harry," Hermione began, sitting on the chair opposite him. "We can't take care of him forever. You know that. You knew this day would come eventually."  
  
Harry put his face in his hands. "I just can't do this."  
  
Hermione sighed. "It's not that we don't love him-" She paused to glance at Ron, who was playing and talking to the seven month old baby boy. "We certainly do. It's just, with the wedding and all, we can't watch him anymore, and we don't think that this arrangement is in the best interest of anyone."  
  
"What do you mean?" Harry asked.  
  
She sighed again. "You're not being with your son, he needs to be with his father, and Ron and I aren't really ready to have children yet."  
  
"We're still available to watch him now and then," Ron added.  
  
"I can't do this!" Harry cried. "You said you're not ready to be parents. Do you think I am?"  
  
"There's not much you can do now!" Hermione yelled. "I'm sorry, but you're stuck! You can't just wave your wand and fix this!"  
  
Actually, Harry thought, I could fix this with a wave of the wand. Just whisper the words that he had said to Morgan…. "It's too soon," he whispered.  
  
Hermione moved next to him on the couch. "Harry, we know it's hard."  
  
"With Morgan gone and everything," Ron said. You know, you really don't, Harry thought. You don't know half of what happened with Morgan.   
  
"But Harry," Hermione said sweetly, putting her hand on his shoulder. "You need to take responsibility. He's your son."  
  
"He's a sweet kid," Ron said.  
  
Hermione smiled. "Very sweet."  
  
"He looks just like you," Ron added. He tried to hand Jamie to Harry, but Harry just slouched farther back on the couch.   
  
"Harry," Hermione said warningly.  
  
"Who else can take him?" Harry asked. "Can Mrs. Weasley? The Dursleys?"  
  
Hermione gasped. "Would you actually do that and send him to the Dursleys? Would you actually do that to your own child?"  
  
I'd rather send him there than keep him, Harry thought. "I can't do this."  
  
"Sure you can," she said encouragingly. "Ron and I'll help you when you need it."  
  
"And my mum will love to help," Ron said. "She can't keep him, Harry, but she'll help."  
  
"I can't do this."  
  
"Take him," Ron insisted, holding out Jamie.  
  
"I can't."  
  
"Take him."  
  
"I can't."  
  
"Take him!"  
  
"No!"  
  
"Do it!"  
  
"No!"  
  
"Goddammit!" Hermione screamed, startling both Harry and Ron. "Harry, he's your son. Take him!"  
  
Reluctantly, Harry took Jamie in his arms. The baby smiled and cooed at his father. His tiny hands reached out and tried to hug his father, but he couldn't reach.  
  
"See?" Hermione said. "He loves you all ready."  
  
Stupid bitch, Harry thought. God, you two are stupider than Morgan was. Love, what a bunch of shit. His lord told him what love really was- nothing. Love did not exist, hate did not exist. Harry had always thought hate did exist; he hated the world. He hated the baby in his arms, he hated Morgan, he hated Ron and Hermione. Just go away. He glared at Hermione, and she backed away a bit. I should kill you right now. I should kill you right now. Yet something was holding him back, some little part of him that he had ignored for the last five years. It wouldn't let him kill Hermione and Ron and Jamie. It was the same part of him that made him hesitate in the murder of Morgan. He tried to shake the feeling off, but did not succeed.   
  
Harry looked down at the baby in his arms. How in the hell is this my son? He's so… weak. And small. Not like the powerful Harry Potter. "He's so small," Harry voiced.  
  
Hermione smiled. "Yeah, he's a bit small for his age. Then again, you were always a bit short too, and Morgan was shorter than I am."  
  
Instead of sneering at her as he would like to, Harry's face broke out into a soft, sad smile. "I guess he's kind of cute."  
  
"He's absolutely adorable," Hermione announced. She lightly ran a finger down Jamie's cheek. "I'm going to miss you, sweetie," she told him. The baby smiled and grabbed Hermione's finger in response.   
  
"Me too," Ron whispered.  
  
"Don't leave me," Harry begged. "Please."  
  
Hermione pecked his cheek. "You'll be fine. Ron and I have to go. We're picking out flowers today for the wedding."  
  
"Fun," Ron commented sarcastically. "I get to pick between roses and tulips. Great."  
  
"Between roses and lilies, dear," Hermione corrected.  
  
"I can't do this," Harry whispered.  
  
Hermione and Ron pretended not to hear. They sat up and started to gather their things. "Owl us if you have any problems," Hermione instructed.   
  
"I've got everything you'll need in here," Ron said, pointing to a light blue baby bag. "Bottles, diapers, clothes, the works."  
  
"Bye Jamie," Hermione said softly, kissing the baby's forehead. "Take care of your dad for us."  
  
"Ha, ha," Harry grumbled.  
  
"Bye Jamie," Ron called out. "We'll see you soon!"  
  
"Hermione, Ron, I can't do this," Harry whined.  
  
"Of course you can!" Hermione exclaimed. A few strands came out of her bun and fell around her face, giving her a much younger impression. It made Harry long for the days when he was much younger, when he had wanted her, craved her more than anything in the world and lost to his best friend. Back when he was innocent.  
  
Hermione and Ron left. Harry sat there on the couch most of the day, staring at his son, who began to get restless and had crawled out of his lap. Harry didn't object; he just sat in the couch, frozen, staring at the ceiling. What just happened?   
  
***  
  
Twenty two year old Harry stood in the middle of a crowded room. He was at a ministry party. He felt quite uncomfortable in his black tux, but Hermione told him that he looked incredibly handsome, and her word meant everything to him. He was looking for her now; he hardly knew anyone there. He got a drink, white wine, and was drinking it cautiously, not wanting a hangover for his first task committed for his new lord, mentor.  
  
He saw Hermione out of the corner of his eye. She was wearing a short almond dress with her hair pinned up in a French twist and a few curly tendrils falling by her face. He nearly drooled. She waved to him, and he mindlessly came over to her. She was arm in arm with Ron, causing a unfamiliar sharp pain in his heart. You knew she was with Ron, Harry thought. They've been together for almost four years now. They might even get married soon. Then what are you going to do?   
  
"Hey, Harry," Hermione greeted.   
  
"Hey Harry! How're you?" Ron said, patting him on the back.  
  
Don't touch me, he thought. "Hey Herm, Ron. I'm fine, thanks."  
  
Hermione smiled again, and Harry really wanted to slug Ron. She should be mine, you jackass. I would appreciate her more than you. I've even kissed her once, tongue and everything. Of course, it didn't really count, because she was out cold at the time. I've bet Ron has kissed her thousands of times.  
  
"Are you enjoying yourself?" Hermione asked.  
  
"Very much so," Harry lied.   
  
"Oh, I have someone you should meet!" Hermione exclaimed. She spun around.  
  
The first thing Harry saw was long, dark, curly hair that went fair past a short woman's shoulders. It was most likely the most beautiful hair he had ever seen, so perfectly placed but natural looking. She was wearing a long, dark blue dress and platform sandals. "Morgan!" Hermione called. "Morgan!"  
  
The woman spun around. "Yes?" Harry guessed that she was about his age, and had a trace of an Australian accent. She had gray eyes, pale skin, and was absolutely gorgeous.  
  
Hermione beamed. "Morgan, this is my friend Harry Potter. Harry, this is Morgan Andrews. We work together."  
  
"Nice to meet you," Morgan said.  
  
"Very nice to meet you," Harry responded.   
  
After that moment, he never again craved Hermione.  
  
***  
  
Harry awoke at three o'clock in the morning to screaming. Jamie, he thought. Goddamn kid! He laid in bed for five minutes, waiting for the cries to subside, before he left his bed.  
  
He reached the nursery shortly; it was two doors away from his own room. He left the lights off; the blinding light from the fan would wake him up completely. He walked over to Jamie's crib. Jamie's face was red and blotchy, his eyes bloodshot from tears. Upon seeing Harry, Jamie held out his arms in order to be picked up and held. Harry almost smiled.  
  
He lifted Jamie out of his crib and started pacing around the room. The nursery had been painted by Morgan almost the very day she found out she was pregnant. It was a sunny yellow color, with wallpaper trimming in the shape of bears and balloons. On one of the walls Morgan had painted a mural of a rainbow and teddy bears playing under it. As Harry observed the picture, he acknowledged that Morgan was quite a good artist. Every detail was there, brilliant little things which endeared the painting. The crib was wooden, painted white with small bears on the side. Also in the room was a matching dresser, bookshelf, chair, couch, and chest of drawers.   
  
Harry looked down at Jamie. He had Harry's own emerald green eyes and jet black hair, but had inherited Morgan's curls and ivory complexion. Jamie stopped crying to look back at Harry, then smiled and shut his eyes. Jamie cuddled closer to his father in his sleep. Harry felt a small smile play his lips, then shunned it away. A wave of fear washed through him. What if Voldemort found out about this? Death Eaters, ESPECIALLY spy Death Eaters, did not have children.   
  
Harry was too tired to think about it. He sat down in the rocking chair next to Jamie's crib and shut his eyes. He felt so- he couldn't even find the word for it, he hadn't had this feeling in so long. Harry quickly fell asleep, holding his son, ignoring the burning skull with a snake dangling from its mouth imprint on his shoulder.   
  
  
  
A/N: What did ya' think? It was a bit weird, a bit predictable, a bit creepy (the beginning scared me a little), a bit sappy, a bit- I'm running out of adjectives. I need to stop baby-sitting; both this and epithalamia have children as one of the themes. Oh well. Please read and review, ok? I'm in need of some complements.  
  
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Albus Dumbledore, Sirius Black, Lily Potter, James Potter, the name Jamie Potter, the Dursleys, Molly Weasley, Voldemort, Death Eaters, Dementors, and aurors belong to J.K. Rowling.  
  
Morgan Andrews belongs to me. And so does the personality of Jamie Potter.  
  
Rice Chex belongs to a cereal company, I forget which one. Fruit Loops belongs to Kellogs (Oh yeah, and I don't think they're just for kids under 12. I still eat em' and I'm over 12)   



	2. Part Two

A/N: Read and Review. Please! I am on my knees! I'm posting the next part of Epithalamia with this, so read that too. PLEASE REVIEW!!!!  
  
  
"And I feel the cold wind blowing beneath my wings  
  
It always leads me back to suffering  
  
But I will soar until the wind whips me down  
  
Leaves me beaten on unholy ground again  
  
So tired of paying my dues  
  
I start out strong but then I always lose  
  
It's half the distance before you leave me behind  
  
It's such a waste of time"  
  
-Vertical Horizon "Shackled"  
  
  
A cold, October breeze blew through the graveyard. The wind bent back the limbs of the dead trees, rustled the overgrown grass, and swept the dust and dirt off of the tombstones. Harry stood there, amidst all the dark, hooded figures in the middle of the cemetery behind Riddle House. I don't belong here, he thought. Why am I here? Because I hate the world, and so does he. So does the man, the lord whose feet he had worshipped for the last five years. The last five years Harry had had purpose, a drive for keeping him alive. He had used his anger as a reason to get up in the morning. Oh, but it's so cold. It's so cold here-. Harry craved for warmth. He remembered the warm, blazing fire he had at home, all the quilts and sweaters Mrs. Weasley had knit for him, and the comfortable bed he could just collapse in. Yet he also remembered the loneliness that had befriended him every day of his miserable existence. He recalled the nights when he would sit in his living room, alone, having no purpose to his life. Hermione was brilliant; she had her career, Ron would never be lonely with his family. Yet Harry Potter was alone. Although now, standing in the graveyard, he was surrounded by people, people like him, people who hated the world, who were familiar with the darkness and silence that haunted him, he had never felt more alone.  
  
He had left Jamie in the care of Mrs. Weasley, who had fallen in love with him almost immediately. She had held him and kissed him as soon as Harry had handed him to her. 'He looks just like you!' she had cried. He didn't quite understand the effects the child had on people, but respected it the same. Harry remembered how the moment he walked out the door, Jamie started crying. Harry almost smiled, reflecting upon it. Almost.  
  
Lucius Malfoy was talking to Voldemort about something; he was talking about his plots to murder a young girl. Harry really wasn't paying attention. He had spied a rose vine in the distance climbing up a small guest house. The roses were bright yellow, standing out very much in the morbid cemetery. Morgan would have loved that. Morgan loved roses. Morgan loved yellow; it had been her favorite color. 'It's the most cheerful color, don't you agree?' she had said, and he had laughed in response. Then she would sit in his lap and say 'I think we do need some cheering up these days.' He used to send her yellow roses and daisies on her birthday, just to make her face light up with a smile…. He shook his head and reminded himself that Morgan was dead. Morgan was gone, never coming back. He had made sure of that.  
  
Voldemort was addressing him now. Harry slowly walked over to him, dawdling, dragging his feet in the rich earth. "Yes?" Harry questioned.  
  
"Do you have the information?" It was not a question. Harry was aware that he would have to tell, or die. Or worse, have a dementor kiss, as the dementors had turned onto the dark side.  
  
"Yes." Harry shut his eyes briefly, trying to collect his thoughts.  
  
"Well?"  
  
Harry looked down on at his feet; the face of his master was to horrid to look at for too long. "They plan attack next week, Knockturn Alley, midnight. At the Nocturnal Convention Center."  
  
"How many will be there?"  
  
"Around one hundred."  
  
Voldemort smiled. "I've very pleased. You've proved yourself very worthy, Potter."  
  
"Thank you, sir."  
  
"The murder of that young auror, not too long ago, was one of your best moves. I really was proud of you; I thought you'd back down."  
  
Morgan, Harry thought. He means Morgan. Oh, poor Morgan. Poor, sweet, unsuspecting Morgan. Wait a minute- Morgan wasn't innocent. She was bad. She was bad, wasn't she? "Thank you, sir," he answered automatically.  
  
"I thought you had grown fond of her," Voldemort said.  
  
I thought I had too. "No, sir. Love does not exist. Everything I tricked myself into feeling for her was fake. It was you who showed these truths to me," Harry answered. Thank god he had, he thought. If I had not found out that love was a fraud, than how far would I have gone with Morgan? Would I have married her? The thought made him feel nauseous, but it made him have this strange sensation- it was the same one that he had felt with Jamie last night.  
  
"Very nice, Potter. You know, never in a million years would I have guessed that you would be an asset to me."  
  
"Thank you, sir."  
  
"How is your son doing?"   
  
Harry felt his heart almost stop. He looked upward into Riddle's eyes. Those cold, black, blood stopping eyes. "You- you know about him?"  
  
Voldemort laughed, creating chills that traveled up Harry's spine. What's wrong with you? His laughter never bothered you before. "I know everything, Potter."  
  
Harry nodded, not knowing exactly what to say. "When he gets old enough, you will bring him hear, correct?" Voldemort continued.  
  
Harry nodded again. "Yes," he squeaked.   
  
"Don't let him grow on you." Riddle warned. "He does have bits of his mother in him, and if you let him grow soft, he will be as bad as she was."  
  
"What do you suggest?" Harry asked.  
  
Voldemort stared at him. "Do you know the saying, spare the rod and spoil the child?"  
  
Harry nodded. "I know it."  
  
"Don't spare the rod. It may seem harsh, but physical pain may be what little James needs. Or I guarantee he will turn out like Morgan Andrews, like his grandparents, like YOUR parents. You wouldn't want that, would you?"  
  
Harry shook his head. "No, sir."  
  
"You don't want him to end up like them, do you? You don't want another soul who can hurt you that badly, do you?"  
  
"No sir," Harry responded.  
  
Voldemort narrowed his eyes. "Do you think that I am evil, boy?"  
  
Harry hated being called 'boy.' He was twenty seven, for christsake. "No."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Evil doesn't exist."  
  
Riddle smiled at this answer. "What does exist then?"  
  
"Power," Harry answered automatically. "Power exists. It is the only thing that exists."  
  
"What, no love, no goodness, no kindness, no evilness? Do none of these things exist?"  
  
"No." Harry shook his head. "Only power."  
  
Voldemort grinned. "I have taught you well. You will come in handy for me later. I can rely on you more than some other of my servants."  
  
"Thank you, sir."  
  
"One last thing, Potter."  
  
"Yes, sir?"  
  
"Don't let your son grow soft. Or he will turn out like them, do you understand?"  
  
"Yes, sir." With that, Harry turned and left the graveyard; he apperated back to London, England.  
  
"Do not let him grow soft, or you Potter, will grow soft," Riddle whispered to himself, out of earshot of everyone else in the cemetery.  
  
***  
  
Harry reached the Burrow at around seven o'clock in the evening. It was already dark, and the moon was full. I wonder where Lupin is, he thought, before brushing him off mentally. No stars were visible tonight. It was so much warmer in the small English village than at the Riddle graveyard. The trips to see Voldemort always drained him of energy, leaving him tired and vulnerable. His scar ached, as it always did after seeing his master. Harry had always thought it of a reminder never to cross Riddle, never to go back to the side Morgan was on, but now he considered it merely an inconvenience and a bother to be constantly in pain. He wiped his glasses and rubbed his eyes as he approached the Burrow, where Mrs. Weasley was baby-sitting Jamie. As he got nearer to the Burrow, he saw something that made his heart stop and his blood run cold.  
  
It was a dark mark, hanging above the Weasley home. It was a floating skull with a snake hanging from its mouth, the sign Harry had created after he had killed Morgan. Shit, Harry thought. Jamie! Who did this? Why hadn't I known that there was a planned attack on the Weasley's home? Harry raced to the front door and rushed inside.  
  
He found Mrs. Weasley inside, perched on a chair, crying, but alive. Mr. Weasley was trying to comfort her, kneeling to where she sat and hugging her middle. George was standing against the wall, frozen, Fred was pacing across the kitchen, and Ron was on the couch, holding Jamie. "Are you all okay?" Harry asked.  
  
Mrs. Weasley shook her head. "Ginny!" she screamed before bursting into sobs again. "Oh, my Ginny," she wailed.  
  
"Ginny?" Harry squeaked. He walked into the living room, only to notice this time the small body laying face down on the floor, its red hair going each and every way. "Ginny," he whispered again, kneeling down to look at the girl. She was dead. She was left in perfect condition, perfectly untouched. She didn't even look scared. Neither had Morgan, he remembered.  
  
Why Ginny? he wondered. Why Ginny? She was so sweet, and innocent. He couldn't think of a single thing that she had done in her entire life which would make her deserving to die. Ginny was like his little sister, the sweet, cute kid who would always look up to him, the one who he could always count on for support. Now she was dead.  
  
Who had killed her, he wondered. Malfoy? Crabbe? Goyle? Macnair? What motive would have one of them for killing her? Ginny wasn't an auror; she was an astronomer. She studied the stars for a living, not killing Death Eaters as Morgan did. What use was in it for killing her?  
  
"When did you come home?" Harry asked. "How long has she been dead?"  
  
"Not long," Fred answered. "Mom and dad had taken Jamie out for a while, and Ginny didn't feel well so she stayed at home. George, Ron, and I had agreed to come over later- well, we were the ones who found her like this."  
  
"How long ago?"  
  
"Twenty minutes," George answered. "Why?"  
  
Harry didn't answer, but his mind was running. Who was absent at the dark meeting? He wished more than anything he had taken more attention at the attendance. "Have you called the ministry?"  
  
"Of course," Ron answered. "How stupid do you think we are?"  
  
Harry sat down next to his friend. "I didn't mean that."  
  
Ron nodded. "I know you didn't."  
  
"Are you ok?" Harry asked.  
  
Ron shook his head. "Here, why don't you take Jamie and go," he suggested, handing the baby to him. "This isn't any place for a child."  
  
"Are you sure?" Harry questioned.  
  
Ron nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure. I'll- I guess I'll be all right. I'm just shaken up. Ginny- she's dead. She's dead." Tears fell down his face. "How did this happen?"  
  
Harry hugged Ron lightly. "I'm so sorry," he told him. Somewhere, deep inside of him, he knew he was telling the truth. He really was sorry.  
  
Ron held up his hand. "Go." Harry stood up with Jamie, went and hugged Mrs. Weasley, then left the Burrow for his own home.  
  
I can't believe it. Ginny? Who would do such a thing? I mean, Ginny? She was the closest to absolute goodness that he had ever known, she and Morgan. Yet he had killed Morgan; he had destroyed something wonderful and pure as she. And someone else, just like him, had killed the most innocent creature they had ever known. And Ginny was going to haunt this person forever, as the memory of Morgan haunted him. For a moment, he felt sorry he had ever done it, sorry he had ever joined the dark side, sorry he had murdered anyone at all.  
  
Yet the feeling passed.  
  
***  
  
Harry had not been home five minutes when his doorbell rang. Carrying Jamie, he went to answer it. It was Hermione, dressed in khakis and a emerald green sweater, her hair pulled back into a ponytail. "Hey," she greeted him. "Hey Jamie," she cooed, taking the baby from Harry. "I've missed you, sweetie. I hope you're taking good care of your daddy."  
  
"Hermione."  
  
"Yeah? What is it? Oh, and that reminds me, have you seen Ron? He stood me up for our date; I want to yell at him."  
  
"Hermione," he began. "He's at the Burrow- um-"  
  
"What?" she asked, suddenly sober, her cheery mannerism gone. "What is it?"  
  
Harry took a breath. "It's Ginny. There was a dark mark above the Burrow, and Ginny. She's dead."  
  
Hermione's jaw dropped in shock. "Oh my god."   
  
Harry nodded. "I was picking up Jamie, and they were all there, and I saw her. She's dead."  
  
"God," Hermione said, her voice unstable, her body trembling. "Ginny." Tears fell down her cheeks.  
  
"Do you want to come in?" Harry asked as sweetly as he could manage without feeling sick.  
  
She nodded. "Do you mind?"  
  
"Not at all." Harry escorted Hermione to his couch in the living room with one arm around her shoulders. "Are you going to be ok?"  
  
"I don't know," she admitted. "It's like their picking off one of my best friends after the next. First Morgan, then Ginny, and who next? You? Ron? God."  
  
"Why Ginny?" Harry questioned. "I mean, why her? She was a goddamn astronomer, the sweetest kid you could ever meet, why her?"  
  
"Why anyone? Why Ginny? Why Morgan?"  
  
"Morgan was an auror," Harry pointed out.  
  
"So?"  
  
Harry sighed. "Hermione, Morgan was brilliant, like you. She was an auror and they didn't have a hope of switching her over to their side. She was in the way."  
  
"You make it sound like you killed her!" Hermione cried.  
  
You don't know how right you are. "Herm, you know how I felt about Morgan. I'm just saying, her death didn't really surprise me."  
  
"Well, if we were in the same position, why aren't I dead?"  
  
"You know I don't have the answer for that, Hermione. Don't make me answer that."  
  
"I don't want to die," Hermione whispered.  
  
Harry hugged her and kissed the top of her head. "You're one of my best friends, Hermione. I don't want you to die either."  
  
"I should die."  
  
"Why on earth would you say that?" Harry asked, incredulous.  
  
"It's my fault Ginny died."  
  
"What?"  
  
Hermione closed her eyes. "I should have told someone. I should have told someone. I shouldn't have listened to Ginny when she told me not to tell."  
  
"Hermione," Harry said. "What the hell are you talking about?"  
  
"Ginny was seeing Draco Malfoy," Hermione whispered.  
  
"What?"  
  
She nodded. "They had been dating for about a year. He's a death eater, you know. She said they were going to elope and run away, stupid girl. He killed her."  
  
"Draco?" Harry squeaked, lost in thought. Shit, earlier, when Lucius Malfoy was talking about killing that young girl- he was talking about GINNY! He was killing Ginny! Not Draco, Lucius. Dammit, why? Because Draco was becoming soft over a Weasley, and Voldemort couldn't have that. Shit.  
  
"Are you okay?" Hermione asked, concerned for her friend.  
  
"I'm fine," Harry answered. "I'm just a bit shaken up."  
  
She smiled. "Aren't we all?"  
  
"Are you okay?" he asked.  
  
She nodded. "Oh, I almost forgot the reason I came over here in the first place! I found some things of Morgan's when I was cleaning up at my office."  
  
"Like what?" he asked.  
  
"Um, there's a research journal in here, a few pictures- mostly of her family, and an old Celestina Warbeck CD."  
  
"A research journal?" Harry inquired.  
  
She nodded. "Yeah, Morgan was very well rounded; she worked in many fields."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Well, one of the things she was trying to do was find a counter-curse for some of the Unforgivable Curses. She would have saved so many lives with that."  
  
"She certainly was amazing, wasn't she?"  
  
Hermione smiled sadly. "Yeah. She really was something. If she hadn't died, she would have saved so many lives. So many lives. It's such a shame."  
  
"Yeah, it is."  
  
"I don't think we'll ever find anyone as great as Morgan Andrews. The world is very deficient in just plain GOOD people like her."  
  
"I know," Harry agreed.  
  
"I'd like to strangle whomever killed her," Hermione said, her voice gruff and bitter.  
  
So would I, Harry thought. So would I.  
  
***  
  
Twenty-two year old Harry sat in a fancy Italian restaurant, La Liberta, dressed up in a suit and tie. He really wasn't concentrating on his food, but on the woman across from him. Her chocolate curly locks bobbed up and down as she spoke, her gray eyes sparkled when she talked of exciting things.   
  
"So," she had said. "I know so much about you, being the famous Harry Potter and all, but there must be more to you than meets the eye."  
  
Much more, he thought. "What do you mean?"  
  
She grinned. "Tell me something about yourself that no one else knows."  
  
Harry pondered this for a minute. "What do you want to know?"  
  
"Why are you not an auror? One would think that you'd really be after Voldemort at a time like this."  
  
He shrugged. "All the hate has kinda just left me. I don't really care anymore." Boy, that was a lie, but he couldn't exactly tell her that he was working for her enemy.   
  
The woman looked at him inquisitively, but did not push any further. "He killed my parents and my brother when I was sixteen."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
She smiled. "It's all right. It gave me my career push. I hated him so much after that."  
  
"He's easy to hate," Harry noted.  
  
"Yeah, I know." She smiled sadly. "Do I ever."  
  
They had finished dinner, and then started taking a stroll outside on the grounds. "How long have you know Hermione?" he asked.  
  
"Three years. I've lived in England for six years. My parents were called in here my the ministry to work against Voldemort, then maybe six months later will killed."  
  
"Where did you live before?" Harry asked.  
  
"Australia," she whispered.  
  
"I notice that you're not in the least bit afraid of saying Voldemort's name," Harry pointed out.  
  
"What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet," she quoted.  
  
"Or, in Voldemort's case, which we call a demon by any other name would still be as rotten," he joked. She giggled.  
  
"I've had a great time tonight."  
  
"Me too."  
  
She smiled. "Well, I should be going."  
  
"All right."  
  
She leaned up to peck him on the cheek. "Goodnight." Harry grabbed her wrist, and she spun around to face him. He bent his head in closer to kiss her lips. He had never kissed anyone like he kissed her that first time, which such passion and vehement that made his head ache. Yet it was the most good- he felt warm, loving again, for the first time in months.  
  
"Um," she said once the kiss was broken.  
  
"Sorry," he whispered. "I just wanted to do that since the first time I saw you."  
  
"Me too," she agreed. "Me too."  
  
"I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"  
  
She nodded. "Goodnight Harry."  
  
"'Night Morgan."  
  
***   
  
Harry couldn't sleep. He rolled around in bed for hours, waiting for sleep to take over him, but it never did. He felt heavy, his head felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, his shoulders ached, his back hurt. He felt dizzy and sick and tired all at the same time. I need sleep, he thought.  
  
But Morgan wouldn't let him sleep. Morgan was haunting him, taking control of his life. He dreamt of her. When he closed his eyes, he visioned her face. He constantly smelled her sweet aroma of cinnamon and pumpkin. Whenever he touched anything, it felt of her skin. Whenever he tasted anything, it tasted of cinnamon and pumpkin, as she used to before he killed her. Now that he had found out about her research, and the fact that she could have saved lives, made him feel more guilty and haunted than he already felt. Morgan, let me be! Leave me be! He moaned in his sleep, thinking about what he would be doing currently if he HADN'T killed Morgan. She would be laying next to him, kissing him, snuggled against him. He would have brought himself to face him, smiling at her content expression of love. They would both be awake still, whispering about how their days had gone. Harry would have complained about his long, boring day at the ministry, and she would have told him about the most recent death eater she had caught. Then they would giggle and kiss as quietly as they could, trying not to awaken Jamie.  
  
Did he miss Morgan? No. There was nothing between them to miss. Yes, sometimes he missed their long talks and having someone to confide in. Yes, he missed the sex and the kisses. Yes, he missed the way Morgan would sometimes fix him breakfast in bed and the way she would kiss him when he got home from work. Yes, occasionally he missed playing with her hair and waking up to find her nestled against his chest. Yes, he did miss the way she bit her lip when she was nervous and how she laughed at his jokes and how her eyes twinkled like Dumbledore's did when she was excited. Yet he didn't miss her as a whole. He was glad she was gone; he was free from her, free of commitment, free of guilt of hiding something.  
  
But Harry wasn't free. Not in the least bit. He was not free of Morgan; she still haunted his life. He wasn't free of commitment; he still had Jamie to take care of - the stupid kid. I should kill you and get it over with. He wasn't free of guilt; he felt so guilty about Morgan, and guilty about Ginny, even though her death was not his fault.  
  
He heard Jamie crying in the next room. Goddamn kid, he thought. Just shut the f*** up and go to sleep. Jamie kept on crying, wailing for someone to come to him and comfort him. Comfort him my ass, Harry thought. He climbed out of bed and stormed to the nursery.  
  
Harry hit the light switch as hard as he could, sending brilliant artificial light flooding through the room, blinding its two occupants. Harry didn't notice. He stomped over to the crib and glared down at the crying, red faced baby. "What's the matter!" Harry yelled. "What the hell is the matter with you?" The baby didn't respond, just cried harder. Harry picked Jamie up and held him out at arms length. "What is your problem?"  
  
Jamie stopped wailing to look at his father. He wrinkled his button nose in confusion, and bit his lip. Harry saw Morgan in his son's features. His curls, his nose, his slightly blushed cheeks, his lips, his thick eyelashes: everything was Morgan. Jamie looked so much like Morgan that Harry wanted to scream. So he did.  
  
"You goddamn bitch, leave me alone!" Harry shouted at no one in particular except Morgan. "Leave me alone." He turned back to Jamie and smacked him across the temple, making the baby cry harder. "Shut the f*** up!"  
  
Harry sunk to his knees and placed the baby on the floor. "What the hell is wrong with you? I hate you! I hate you and your mother and everything in this f****** world!" Jamie stopped crying and smiled gently; he held out his arms almost to give Harry a hug.  
  
Harry didn't want a hug. He remembered Voldemort's words. 'It may seem harsh, but physical pain may be what little James needs. Or I guarantee he will turn out like Morgan Andrews.' Dammit, Morgan again! He pulled his wand out of his pants. "Crucio," he whispered. The baby never cried; he just closed his eyes and started jerking wildly. Harry knew exactly the type of aching, blinding pain that Jamie was facing; he had experienced it twice himself, both times enforced by Voldemort.  
  
Holy shit, Harry thought. What have I just done? What am I doing? He threw his wand away and Jamie stilled. "Jamie?" he whispered, his voice cracking. His son opened his eyes; they were big and watery, yet glazed over. The reminded him of how Sirius had looked when he had just returned from Azkaban. Dull. Scared. Lifeless.  
  
Harry turned his back to Jamie, to ashamed to look at his son's face. How could he? He used an unforgivable curse on a baby! He had used the Cruciatus Curse on a seven month old baby! His own son. His own flesh and blood. Have I gone that far? Am I that bad; am I that evil? I don't deserve to live. I deserve to die. Actually, I don't even deserve that; I deserve the Dementor's kiss. Harry felt tears fall from his eyes and didn't even shun them. I shouldn't be crying for myself, he thought. I should be crying for my child who I have disgraced, who I have hurt more than almost physically possible. I am a piece of shit. The tears were coming harder now. How could he have hurt this tiny angel, this little innocent boy? The same way I killed Morgan, he told himself. With an unforgivable curse. I wish I could take it back, it all back. I hate me now. I hate my life. I don't hate the world; I hate myself and what I have become. How did I allow myself to believe him, believe his lies, be brainwashed by him?  
  
Harry's thoughts were interrupted by Jamie crawling into his father's lap. Harry looked down at the baby boy, his eyes still big and watery, but now more sad than lifeless. Harry hugged the little boy close to him, trembling with grief and remorse and horrid guilt. He drew back and kissed the top of Jamie's head. "I'm so sorry," Harry whispered. Jamie didn't respond, but wrapped his arms around his father's neck.  
  
"Hey," Harry said, pulling Jamie away. "Look at me," he ordered. Jamie winced, expecting another blow, but when none came, he focused his gaze at Harry. "I will never, ever hurt you again," he promised, running a finger down his son's cheek. "I never, ever will hurt you again, nor will I let anyone else hurt you." He kissed Jamie's forehead. "I will die before I let anyone hurt you. You understand? I'll die. I will never let harm come to you again." Jamie looked up at him with interest, then smiled.  
  
Harry kissed his son's cheeks and nose, then his black messy curls. "I promise," he whispered. Jamie then did something surprising; the little boy stood up and attempted to kiss his father's cheek. Harry pulled Jamie closer to him. "Tomorrow," he whispered. "I'm not working. We'll go out and do something together, okay? Just you and me? How about the zoo?" And the little boy smiled.  
  
  
  
A/N: That was creepy. This is the darkest fic I've ever written; it's nice to have a well-rounded experience in writing. I didn't really like the end, I was so mad at Harry when he did that to Jamie! But Harry had to have a turning point, a point where he just broke and knew that what he was doing was wrong. Hopefully, the rest won't be that creepy. It'll still be dark, but hopefully not as creepy. Please review! PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE REVIEW! See the little box down there, just fill it out- :-)   
  
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Molly Weasley, Arthur Weasley, Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Ginny Weasley, Draco Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy, Remus Lupin, Goyle, Crabbe, Macnair, Riddle House, dementors, Knockturn Alley, aurors, death eaters, the Burrow, unforgivable curses, Crustasious Curse, Celestina Warbeck, the name Jamie Potter, and Voldemort (aka Tom Riddle) belong to the great J.K. Rowling.  
  
Morgan Andrews, the personality of Jamie Potter and La Liberta belong to me.   



	3. Part Three

A/N: Third part! Yeah! Not as creepy as last two parts. Thank goodness.  
  
"I've got to be honest  
  
I think you know  
  
We're covered in lies and that's OK  
  
There's somewhere beyond this I know  
  
But I hope I can find the words to say…  
  
But I've been unable  
  
To put you down  
  
I'm still learning things I ought to know by now  
  
It's under the table so  
  
I need something more to show somehow."  
  
-Vertical Horizon, "You're A God"  
  
  
  
To the spectators they seemed normal. They were a pair, a father and his baby son going to the zoo. It was a usual site to see parents taking their young children to the zoo, so they thought nothing of it. They only saw the two share a vanilla ice-cream cone, laughing at the lion chasing his tail, waving to the friendly zebras. They didn't notice how the father started up a friendly conversation with the resident rattlesnake, creating squeals of delight from his son, or how the father whispered a few words under his breathe and made the lion think his tail was his lunch. They didn't see a killer holding his baby, the only thing in the world with any worth to him. No, they didn't see that; they only saw a dark haired, green eyed man carrying his seven month old son who resembled the father greatly.  
  
"Hey, Jamie, look," Harry whispered, pointing his wand at the bubble gum pink flamingos. An instant later, the flamingos were attempting dance like steps that resembled Riverdance. Jamie giggled and clapped his hands.  
  
"You like that?" Harry asked, hugging his son closer to him. Jamie giggled again and told Harry something in baby talk that he couldn't understand.  
  
"What?" Harry questioned. "You're still hungry?" Jamie shrugged and grinned. The baby shut his eyes and laid his head on his father's shoulder.  
  
"Oh, you're sleepy?" In response, Jamie looked up at Harry from his position, then closed his eyes again. "I'll take that as a yes," Harry said softly, not wanting to wake his son.  
  
He sat down upon a green park bench, leaning back against the painted rod iron. He held Jamie in his arms, cradling him close. Harry noted how sweet he looked in sleep. With Jamie's dark, wispy curls, his creamy, ivory skin, his rose colored cheeks, and his long, thick eyelashes, Jamie really did resemble a little angel. All he needs now is a little halo, wings, and a harp, Harry thought with a smile. He looks like Morgan. And me. He has my hair color, my eyes, my knobby knees, and my skinny build. Jamie shifted in his sleep and turned closer to Harry. "You're sweet, aren't you?" he whispered.  
  
In response, Jamie's eyes sprung open. He grinned and cooed. "Ah ah," he mumbled.  
  
"Ah ah?" Harry questioned.  
  
Jamie nodded. "Ah ah."  
  
Harry kissed his son's forehead. "Sorry, sweetie, I haven't the slightest of what that means."  
  
Jamie shrugged. "Ah uh ew."  
  
Harry shook his head. "I'm going to have to teach you English soon, all right?"  
  
"Ah uh ew," Jamie cooed.  
  
He smiled. "Ah uh ew too, whatever that means." Jamie giggled and flailed his tiny arms and legs in the air. Harry laughed too and pulled his son closer.  
  
"You're so tiny," Harry commented. "It's amazing how much personality you have for such a small boy."  
  
Jamie grinned and clapped his hands. Harry grinned too, so big that it hurt his face. He felt, well, happy for the first time in years. He didn't really feel like he hated the world anymore.   
  
Jamie clutched to Harry's neck and whimpered. "What is it?" Then Harry felt it. His dark mark on his shoulder, burning.   
  
Jamie held out his finger, which had a small red mark on it. "Oh, did it burn you?" he asked sweetly. Jamie nodded. "I think we'll have to cut our afternoon short. I have to take you to Hermione's then go to- a place, all right?" The little boy nodded again, almost in comprehension, but a few tears ran down his cheeks.   
  
***  
  
He was back at the graveyard again. He hated leaving Jamie with Hermione, to burden her so, but he didn't have any option. When the mark burned, he had to go. So there he stood, amidst the gray, cracked tombstones, with the grass grown up to his knees and the chilling breeze. Is it always dark here? Is it always this cold? Harry shuddered to himself as the rest of the dark robed figures arrived. He looked around for Voldemort, but saw that his master's face was missing.  
  
The dark grounds no longer held their mystery, their hate that Harry had been so fond of. It was merely dark and cold. Harry wished he was still at the zoo with Jamie, making his son laugh by performing charms on the animals. He almost smiled at the memory, but knew that if he did suspicions would arrive.   
  
He saw Draco in the back of the group, his head bent and staring at the ground. His silvery blonde hair looked dirty, darker than usual, and when he looked up, his eyes looked more sad and hurt than cold and cruel. Harry pondered his change, and fought the instinct to run to Voldemort and tattle on Draco's obvious vulnerabilities. A weak Death Eater was as good as a dead one, his lord said often enough; it was one of his favorite lines. Harry would have otherwise been overjoyed to get his enemy in trouble, but today, didn't care the slightest. Oh, Ginny, he remembered. It's Ginny's death that's creating Draco's pain. He closed his eyes, remembering her laying face down on the floor of the Burrow, her fiery hair cascading behind her.  
  
Harry walked over to his childhood enemy. "Draco," he said kindly.  
  
"What is it, Potter?" Draco snapped coldly. His voice, although frigid, lacked its usual confidence and stability.  
  
"I'm sorry," Harry said lamely.  
  
"About what?"  
  
"Ginny."  
  
Draco gave a short, forced laugh. "A Weasley? Do you really think that Weasley girl's death? I could care less!"  
  
"I think you do care. I know you were seeing her," Harry replied.  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about," Draco snapped.   
  
Harry sighed. "I think you do. Draco, I'm not about to run over there and tattle on you to Voldemort." Draco cringed ever so slightly at the name.  
  
"No, my father already did that, thank you," Draco whispered.  
  
"He's the one who told him?"  
  
"He's the one that killed her!" Draco shouted. "He went to her house and killed her! He told Voldemort about us and he was ordered to kill her!"  
  
"I'm sorry," Harry whispered.  
  
"I loved her," Draco stated. "I was going to marry her, but now I'll never have the chance, now will I?"  
  
"You were going soft. That's why they did it," Harry stated.  
  
Draco shook his head. "Soft? I may be soft, but I feel more alive being soft than not."  
  
"I know what you mean," Harry said, thinking of Jamie, thinking of Morgan.  
  
"Do you? You going soft too, Potter?"  
  
"I don't know. I don't know anything anymore. Yesterday I would have said no, but today I don't know."  
  
"Were you the one who killed that Australian Auror?" Draco asked, changing the subject.  
  
"Morgan?"  
  
He nodded. "Yeah, her name was Morgan Andrews. You were the one who did it, right?"  
  
Harry nodded sadly. "Yes, that was me."  
  
"Did you love her?" Draco questioned. "I know that she was your girlfriend."  
  
"I don't know," Harry admitted. "I thought I did, but then he said that I didn't and-"  
  
"Do you know why Voldemort told you to kill her?" Draco interrupted.  
  
"Yeah, she was an auror, and she was researching counter curses for the unforgivable curses-"  
  
Draco shook his head. "That's not it. I mean, that was a part, but not all."  
  
"What?" he inquired, puzzled.  
  
"The same reason my father killed Ginny."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You were going soft, Potter," Draco explained. "He knew that he wouldn't have long before you were completely gone to the other side, and he couldn't have that."  
  
"What?" Harry repeated, shocked.  
  
"You heard me, Potter. You were going soft, and a much too profitable asset to be lost over a pretty auror. So he fed you a bunch of crap and told you to kill her."  
  
"No," Harry moaned. "That's not true."  
  
"Whatever, Potter. You believe whatever you want, but I'm telling you the truth. You also better watch over your kid, because the second he thinks you've gone too soft over him, he's gone. He thinks that you're still savable, but I'm lost for good. I can't do this anymore."  
  
"I can't believe this."  
  
"And if you know what's good for you, you won't tattle about our little conversation, will you?" Draco snapped.  
  
"Draco, I wouldn't do that."  
  
"I also thought I'd never see you, Harry Potter, as a death eater, but here you are."  
  
Harry looked down at his feet. "I guess I got screwed up."  
  
"Didn't we all?"  
  
"What?"  
  
Draco sighed impatiently. "We all got screwed up. By our families. By our friends. By him. We're all screwed up."  
  
"He fed me lies and told me that my parents, my friends were wrong. That they were bad."  
  
"Don't feel so sorry for yourself, Potter. How would you like it if both your father and him recruited you for this? Would you like that?"  
  
"I'm sorry," Harry said softly.  
  
"I'm sorry for you too. We're both over our heads."  
  
"What can we do? We can't get out. Once you're a death eater, you can't just stop. You're one for life."  
  
Draco looked down at the dirt. "If you find a plan, Potter, fill me in on it. I want to get out as much as you do."  
  
"Only if you do the same."  
  
Draco gave a small smile. "Does this agreement mean we're companions?"  
  
"You mean friends?"  
  
He cringed. "Yes."  
  
"Do you think so?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
Well," Harry began. "If we are going to be friends, call me Harry, not Potter, all right?"  
  
"All right, Harry."  
  
***  
  
The morning held a wet, dewy feeling to it. Harry shuddered against the early November cold. He hugged Jamie to him, clutching his son against his black robes. The Weasleys stood together, each one ashen faced and gloomy. Their hair seemed to lost most of its fire and for once, seemed dull. The priest was talking, saying things about how wonderful Ginny Weasley was. He didn't even know her, Harry thought bitterly. He shouldn't be talking at her funeral. Hermione stood next to Harry, watching the coffin being placed in the ground with tears in her eyes. Harry stared at her, watched her bend her head with sobs, then look up and shake her hair from her eyes, then look down again with a new burst of tears. Harry put a comforting arm around her, and she leaned on him, crying into his shoulder. "It's okay," he comforted her. "It's all right." He caught Ron's gaze; instead of looking at him with appreciation for calming his fiancée, Ron looked almost jealous and angry. Harry snorted. You think I'm going to steal her? Fat chance. If I didn't manage that years ago, do you think I'll do that now? He didn't want her anymore. He didn't know what he wanted.   
  
"Thanks," Hermione sniffed, wiping her tears. "I'm sorry."  
  
Harry shook his head. "There's nothing to be sorry about."  
  
"I hate funerals," she muttered.  
  
He laughed. "Doesn't everyone?"  
  
"Not Draco," she muttered. "The murderer."  
  
Harry shook his head. She doesn't know, he thought. She doesn't know that I'm a killer too, more of one than Draco is.  
  
He noticed a black robed figure in the back of the group, staying away from everyone else. The man kept his hood down to disguise his face, but once the wind succeeded and pulled the hood back, revealing bloodshot, pain lined gray eyes, blonde hair, and blotchy skin from crying. The man watched Ginny's coffin be lowered into the ground, her gravestone placed upon the newly placed dirt. He bowed his head in pure grief. Harry felt his heart going out to his former enemy. I am going soft, he concluded. Maybe Draco was right, it was better to be soft than hard. It was better to love than hate, although both hurt. Hate hurts because it burns one's soul into nothing, and love hurts when it is lost. But love was much more appealing to Harry than hate at that moment, cradling his son, watching his friend being buried deep into the earth, and seeing his enemy cry. Love was much more appealing. It was hate that created this funeral, not love.  
  
"Hermione?" he asked softly.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Would you hold Jamie for a minute?"  
  
She forced a smile. "Of course." She took the baby from Harry. Jamie looked at Hermione, then back at Harry. He started to whimper.  
  
"Jamie," Harry said warningly, making the baby hush.  
  
"He's grown attached to you," Hermione noted.  
  
Harry nodded and walked off. He didn't know where he was going, but knew that he would know when he arrived. He walked between the rows of tombstones. He noticed that families were buried together, like the Browns and Patils and Macmillans. The gray-brown morning sky fit the occasion, patrolling in a graveyard, in which he had been in several times.  
  
He reached his destination. "Potter," he read. "James." He walked to the next grave. "Lily." He sat down between his parent's graves. "Mum, dad," he whispered. "I'm so sorry," he cried, not thinking of anything else to say. "I'm so sorry about everything. I'm sorry about how my life has turned out. I'm so sorry I disappointed you." Tears ran down his cheeks. "If you were still alive, would you hate me?" He knew he sounded like a little child, but didn't care. "Would you hate me?" He suddenly knew the answer- no. They wouldn't hate him. They felt towards him what he had started to feel towards Jamie- unconditional love. Harry suddenly understood everything, his parents, his son. He smiled and stood up.  
  
He walked until he came to the burial of the Andrews family. "Alexia," he read, walking down the row. "David. Peter." He stopped in his tracks at the next grave. "Morgan," he whispered. He kneeled in front of her grave. "Morgan," he cried. "Damn it! Morgan." Remorse filled him, making his heart physically ache and his head sore. "I'm so sorry," he sobbed. He stood their a long time, just crying for his lover, for his baby's mother. He cried for his parents, for Ginny, for Ron, for Hermione, for Jamie. Tears blurred his vision and the only thing he knew was his pain.  
  
They saw none of this. The Weasleys, Hermione, they didn't see this. They saw a man crying for his dead lover. They didn't see a killer crying for his victim. Harry liked it that way.  
  
***  
  
"Hermione?" Harry squeaked, panicked, holding the phone to his ear.  
  
Ten blocks away, Hermione Granger held her phone to her ear. "Harry, it's one o'clock in the morning."  
  
"Hermione, something's wrong," Harry stated, holding Jamie in his arms. "It's Jamie."  
  
"What is it?" Hermione asked, sitting straight up in bed. "What's wrong?"  
  
"He's-" Harry paused and touched his son's forehead. "God, Herm, he's burning up, but he's getting chills. He's crying and refusing to eat or drink."  
  
In her dark and empty bedroom, Hermione almost smiled. "It sounds like he's sick, Harry."  
  
Harry rolled his eyes, although Hermione couldn't see him. "I noticed that."  
  
"He probably has some muggle cold," Hermione stated, throwing the covers off her bed and standing up. She walked over to the door to her bathroom and slipped her robe around be pajamas. "Do you have a thermometer and muggle medicines like Tylenol?"  
  
"What?" Harry questioned. Jamie had just gotten a chill, and Harry's heart skipped a beat. I am going soft.  
  
Hermione sighed at Harry's naïveté. "Do you want me to come over and bring what you need?"  
  
"Would you?"  
  
"Of course. You've had him for less than a week; of course I will." Hermione walked to her closet and pulled out a pair of jeans and an old, ragged sweater. "I'll be there in ten minutes, all right?"  
  
"Ron too?" Harry asked, not really sure if he wanted Ron there. He did, because Ron was his friend, but he didn't, because Harry had some hidden grudges against his favorite Weasley.  
  
"No," Hermione admitted. "Would you hold on?" She placed the phone down, and quickly took of her pajama top and threw on her sweater. She again picked up the phone. "I haven't the slightest where Ron is; I have only seen him twice since, well, Ginny died."  
  
"It was only three days ago," Harry reasoned. "The man's in shock. I mean, his sister's dead; the funeral was today; I would be too."  
  
"I know," Hermione sighed. "It's just that, I don't know where we're going from this." She pulled her pajama pants down and pulled on her jeans.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Are we still getting married? Does he want to postpone it for the billionth time?"  
  
Harry almost laughed. "Come over and bring Jamie some medicine. We'll talk more then."  
  
"Be there in a few minutes," Hermione agreed, then hung up the phone.   
  
***  
  
"There we go," Hermione said, placing the ear thermometer in Jamie's ear.  
  
"You know what you're doing?" Harry asked nervously.  
  
"I'm sure," Hermione stated calmly. "103.2," she stated. "You are sick, aren't you?"  
  
"Will he be all right?"  
  
"Fever is just a sign that the body is fighting disease. It's good, but this might be a bit high."  
  
Harry looked around. "And we do what?"  
  
Hermione grinned. "We calm down. Being nervous won't help Jamie."  
  
He smiled. "Ok. What do we do now?"  
  
"We give him Tylenol," she stated.  
  
"Oh, all right."  
  
She turned Jamie on his stomach and pulled down his pants. "Hand me the Tylenol, please."  
  
"What the hell are you doing?" Harry asked, incredulous.  
  
"Watch and learn," she said. "Now hand me the Tylenol."  
  
Harry handed her the medicine. "You're going to stick the medicine up his ass?"  
  
"Harry!" she scolded. "Don't swear!"  
  
"Well, are you?"  
  
She sighed. "That's what you're supposed to do. They can't keep down liquids or solids yet, so this is the only way."  
  
"Ewww."  
  
"Baby," Hermione hissed under her breath. "There, all done."  
  
Harry picked up Jamie and held the child in his lap. "Now what?"  
  
"I wouldn't put him to bed until he breaks the fever," Hermione instructed. "He'll probably need a change of clothes afterward."  
  
"All right," Harry said, settling on the couch. "I'm tired."  
  
"Me too." She smiled. "Are you doing well as a father?"  
  
"I guess so," he said. Not before our second night, he thought, when I- he didn't even want to think about it.  
  
"How long did it take you to learn how to change a diaper?"  
  
"An hour," Harry admitted.  
  
"Pretty good," Hermione stated. "It took Ron three."  
  
Harry laughed. "What were you saying on the phone?"  
  
She looked at her feet. "I'm so confused. I don't know what to do."  
  
"About what?"  
  
"Ron and I. We haven't talked about the wedding in ages. Are we still going through with it? We've been engaged for about five years now. First, it we were scared; we weren't used to these dangerous times. Then my mum died, then Morgan, and now Ginny." She laid her head back. "I don't think we're ever going to get married."  
  
"There, there," Harry comforted. "I'm sure you will, eventually."  
  
She snorted. "Yeah, EVENTUALLY."  
  
Jamie mumbled something in his sleep, and Harry pulled him closer. "Shhh," he told Hermione. "Keep your voice down."  
  
She smiled. "You certainly are turning into a true father, aren't you?   
  
"I'd like to think so."  
  
Jamie opened his eyes and yawned. "He's so cute," Hermione commented.  
  
Harry kissed Jamie's curls. "He's adorable. Aren't you?" Jamie fluttered his long eyelashes and yawned again. "Aren't you adorable?" He looked up at Hermione. "He's all sweaty."  
  
She nodded. "His fever most likely broke. He'll be feeling a bit better now."  
  
"Do you feel better?" Harry asked Jamie. The baby smiled and cooed. "I love you," he whispered.  
  
In the corners of the room, a small, fat rat ran from its hiding place in the shadows to the open window. He crawled up the desk next to the window, and carefully climbed from the window to the ledge below. Then he raced away, as fast as he could, considering that he was missing a finger.  
  
Harry's mind went blank. He had just said the three words that he had believed were bullshit. He had said them, and meant them too! Harry felt scared to leave the comfort that he had lived in, how he had lived in his hate. Did he love the baby? Did he really mean the words he had said? Yes, Harry decided. He did love Jamie. The acknowledgment of this fact made him feel like a weight had been lifted, but he felt scared because everything he had believed for the five years had just been thrown out the window. He felt shaky, unsteady, but lighter than air.  
  
"Harry?" Hermione inquired. "Are you all right?"  
  
"Huh? Oh, I'm fine."  
  
"You just were staring out into space. Are you sure you're ok?"  
  
He nodded. "I'm fine, Herm. Don't worry about me."  
  
She grinned. "I'm going to go now, all right? Do you need me to stay longer?"  
  
He shook his head. "No, I'm fine. You can go if you like."  
  
They both stood up and walked towards the door. "Thanks for everything," he said.  
  
"You're welcome."  
  
He pulled her into a tight hug. He decided to test his new ability to say those three words. "I love you."  
  
She squeezed him. "I love you too. Now, try and get some sleep, all right?"  
  
He laid his head on her shoulder. "Ok," he whispered.   
  
"Harry, what's wrong?" She placed one hand on his shoulder and on his neck. She felt something on his shoulder, so she lifted the short sleeve of his shirt a bit, and felt something. A tattoo? No, that's not it. An engraving. A head- no a skull with something coming from its mouth - a snake. Oh, shit, she thought, not even chastising herself for swearing. The dark mark. Voldemort's dark mark. On Harry's shoulder. Is he one of them? Is he a death eater? He must be if he has a dark mark, her head screamed. Oh god. He's evil. How did this happen? My Harry, our sweet, trusting Harry- a death eater? Gone bad? A thought came to her that made her almost gasp. Was he the one to kill Ginny, not Draco? The timing was perfect-. Her thoughts ran together and she tried not to panic. Oh my god. Oh my god.  
  
She pulled out of his embrace quickly. "Well, I really must be going."  
  
"You can stay if you want," Harry offered.  
  
She laughed nervously. Straighten up, Hermione! "No, really, I should go."  
  
"Are you all right?"   
  
"I'm fine. Fine, fine. What, do I not seem like I'm fine?"  
  
He shrugged. "You seem a bit edgy. What's going on?"  
  
"Edgy? Oh, I'm not edgy. Why would you think that. Don't answer- I really have to go. Bye Harry," she said as she raced out of the door.  
  
"Bye," he said after she had slammed the door in his face.  
  
***  
  
Riddle graveyard didn't intimidate Harry as much as it once did. The chill in the air, the ice cold ground- none of it made Harry feel almost giddy as it once did. He was young, and the being evil made him feel as if he was rebelling against his almost perfect existence. The perfect Potter he was. Some perfect, he snuffed. He noticed that their was only a few others, himself, Draco, Lucius, Macnair, and Goyle. His dark mark had been burning. Could Voldemort only summon certain people? He guessed so, but wasn't sure.   
  
He noticed a caterpillar on the ground. He raised his foot to stomp on it, but stopped at the last minute. The worm like insect was kind of cute, and would turn into a butterfly when it became spring. Morgan loved butterflies. She would catch the caterpillars and watch them as they went into their cocoon and turned into the colorful flying butterflies. He recalled a picture of her in where she was in the park and had three butterflies in her hair. He never laughed as much as the day he took that picture.  
  
Voldemort was beckoning him now. He was almost scared, the man-he wasn't a man, a demon- was so ugly looking, with his red eyes and snake like features. "Potter."  
  
"Yes, sir?"  
  
"Your son, his name is James, correct?"  
  
You already knew that, you dumb-ass. "Yes, sir."  
  
"Potter."  
  
"What?"  
  
Voldemort looked at him with his evil, scarlet eyes and Harry almost trembled. "You do not address me in that manner."  
  
"I'm sorry, sir," Harry apologized. "I'm a bit crabby today, and I apologize."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I didn't get much sleep."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"My son was sick."  
  
Riddle looked away for a minute, then turned his stare back to Harry. "About your son-"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"You need to kill him."  
  
"What, sir?" Harry cried.  
  
"He- he has to much of his mother in him. He'll go back to their side, Potter. You don't want that, do you?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Then you need to kill him. It'll be very easy to fake, my loyal spy. Very easy indeed."  
  
Kill Jamie? What? "Yes, sir."  
  
"Good," Voldemort grinned. "I trust that I will not be disappointed in you, Potter."  
  
"I would not disappoint you, my lord."  
  
"Good. You're dismissed, Potter."  
  
Harry turned away. He started walking away from Riddle, away from the death eaters. He had not the slightest idea where he was going; his mind was blank.  
  
Kill Jamie? He's my son. I can't do that. Ah, but you killed Morgan, the little voice in his head so annoyingly told him. I can't do it. I can't! What if Riddle is right? What if he is bad? But Voldemort is the one who is bad. And anyone he says is bad; it's like a double negative. If a bad person says someone is bad, then he's good. Jamie was the best thing Harry had ever known. He was perfect, an angel. What could that little baby have ever done to be killed? He's making you soft, Harry thought angrily. Draco's right; he wants me to kill Jamie because I've become soft over him. I love him; he's my son. I'm not going to be as stupid as I was with Morgan.   
  
So Harry apperated away. He left the graveyard, the tombstones, the death eaters, Draco, Riddle himself. He left with the knowledge that he would never, could never, EVER kill his son.  
  
  
A/N: That one wasn't as creepy as the last two, although it was dark. What did you think? Please review! Please, pretty please with cherries on top? :-) I think there'll be two more parts. I still have a few twists and surprises, so look forward to it!  
  



	4. Part Four

A/N: Part Four is here! Yea! The author's note is at the beginning because there's a bit of a surprise at the end, and I don't want to ruin it for you. Intrigued? Read on, and please review.  
  
Note: Would you guys go and read my original novel, Nonagon? It's only the first chapter/prologue and is really short. I really need feedback, so would you read and review? And I posted two poems, trying to see how you guys like my nuts poetry. Read those too, por favor.   
  
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and co. belong to J.K. Rowling. Everyone else belongs to me. (What? I'm lazy today.)  
  
And now, on to the fic.  
  
  
"I need to know if you were real  
  
'Cause I've been known to get it wrong  
  
When the memory comes  
  
I'll say I'm always in the dark  
  
You got me now…  
  
I can't remember how it went  
  
You looked like everything I wanted  
  
And you came along  
  
Slowly everything began to change  
  
I got you now."  
  
-Vertical Horizon, "Give You Back"  
  
  
  
Harry knocked on the door of apartment 345, a small yet impressive ministry apartment building. The flats were very clean, very contemporary, and only for ministry members. Even the halls were impressive; they had benches and carpet and reminded Harry of hotel rooms. Morgan had loved hotels, he thought with a smile. Hotels and cinemas.  
  
A grumpy looking Ron answered. "Hey, Harry," he said. "What is it?"  
  
"I need to talk to you and Hermione," Harry said. "Is she here? This is her apartment."  
  
Ron nodded. "She's here, in the shower. I just got here about ten minutes ago." He smiled. "Hey, Jamie."  
  
Jamie giggled and waved hello. "Can I come in?" Harry asked impatiently.  
  
Ron smacked his forehead. "Of course. I don't know where my head is today. Come in, sit down." He lead Harry into the living room, where Harry sat on the couch. "Do you want any coffee?"  
  
Harry shook his head. "I'm fine, thanks." He looked down at the sleeping child in his arms. "Do you still have that crib you used for Jamie when you took care of him?"  
  
Ron nodded. "Do you want me to take him?"  
  
"Yes, he's so sleepy. Aren't you?" Harry asked Jamie. The baby nodded and shut his eyes.   
  
"Here, I'll take him," Ron offered, taking Jamie from Harry's arms. "The crib's in the first bedroom, so we can hear him if he cries." Ron turned and left the room.  
  
Harry watched him leave. He couldn't remember this amount of politeness between the two since their fourth year when Harry's name had been put into the Goblet of Fire. Usually the two best friends were on good terms. Ginny's death must have really upset him. Hermione's been more of a friend to me lately than Ron has, Harry thought. Although, even she had been in a rush to leave the two nights before. She had seemed so edgy; what had he done? He had just given her a hug. Do hugs make her nervous? What was wrong with her?  
  
Ron re-entered the room, with Hermione by his side. Her eyes widened at the site of Harry, with fear? Anger? Anxiety? Harry had always had a hard time of reading his female best friend's expressions. "Hello, Harry," she squeaked.  
  
"Hey Herm," he greeted her.  
  
She smiled and sat in a chair facing him, running her fingers nervously along the arm. "Are you ok?" Ron asked.  
  
"I'm fine, fine," she answered, her voice tight and unnatural.  
  
"You sure?" Harry inquired.   
  
"Uh, huh."  
  
"Sweetheart," Ron said softly. "Tell me, what's wrong?  
  
"Nothing!" she shouted. "Nothing's wrong!" Nothing except the fact that we have a murderer in our flat, she thought.  
  
"Whatever," Ron grumbled. "So, what is it Harry?"  
  
"How are you doing?" Harry asked Ron, changing the subject.  
  
Ron shook his head. "Not well. I'm so mad. I'm so mad at the person who killed Ginny, I, I could probably kill someone."  
  
"I wouldn't suggest doing that," Harry commented.  
  
"I wasn't planning on it," Ron said.  
  
"Good to hear."  
  
"Anyway," Ron said. "What are you doing here?"  
  
Harry grinned. "Can't I just come to visit two old friends? Why must I have a motive?"  
  
Ron laughed. "I'm sorry, I-"  
  
Hermione cut him off. "Why have you come here, Harry?" She paused and stared at him, her eyes now hosting unmistakable anger. "To kill us?"  
  
"Hermione," Ron started. "What the hell are you talking about?"  
  
"He's a death eater!" she cried, pointing a finger at him. "He has a dark mark on his shoulder."  
  
"Hermione," Ron groaned, rolling his eyes.  
  
She rose from her chair. "It's true! He's a spy for Voldemort! He's the one who killed Ginny, and Morgan too! He's going to kill you and me and Jamie!"  
  
"Ginny?" Ron squeaked. "Harry?"  
  
"I don't know what she's talking about."  
  
"Harry!" Hermione screamed. "Admit it! You're one of them!"  
  
Harry sighed. "I won't deny that I am a death eater. Okay? You happy?"  
  
"You jackass!" Ron scowled. "You killed Ginny, you bastard!"  
  
"I didn't!" Harry screamed.  
  
"Don't deny it!" Hermione yelled.  
  
"I didn't kill Ginny!" Harry explained. "That was Lucius Malfoy. But I won't deny that I was the one to kill Morgan."  
  
"You murdered Morgan?" Hermione asked, in disbelief. "She was your girlfriend."  
  
Harry nodded. "She was in the way."  
  
"Are you going to kill us?" Ron asked, his voice shaking.  
  
Hermione ran towards the front door. Harry ran after her, catching her before she reached the door. "Don't touch me!" she cried.  
  
"Hermione," he whispered. She was trembling. "Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you. I couldn't do that." He ran a finger down her cheek. "Hermione, you don't understand."  
  
"Understand what?"  
  
"The reason I came here today was to admit to all this. To tell you the truth."  
  
"Why?"  
  
A tear fell down his cheek. "I want out. I don't want this anymore." The tears came harder. "I want to be normal, I want to feel alive again."  
  
Ron came up from behind him and gently tore him apart from Hermione. "Sit down," he ordered. "Now, talk."  
  
Harry shook his head. "I don't want to be a f****** death eater anymore. I hate my goddamn life; I hate him. I hate Voldemort."  
  
Hermione sat next to him. "Why did you start this in the first place?"  
  
"I felt so alone, and depressed. He fed me lies, what I wanted to hear, that I wasn't alone as I thought, that I could use my hate. I bought every word of that bullshit."  
  
"You felt alone?" Ron asked kindly. "Why? We were always here for you."  
  
"You had each other. I didn't have anyone."  
  
"What about Morgan?"  
  
"I was long gone by the time I meet Morgan. One of the things he told me that love didn't exist. I spent most of my time trying not to fall for Morgan, but I did anyway. But I still clung to the idea that there was no love. It was so much easier, less painful that way. It explained my parents, the Dursleys, everything." Harry looked at the floor. "I did love Morgan."  
  
"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered.   
  
"He told me to kill Jamie," Harry stated lamely.  
  
Ron's jaw dropped. "You aren't, are you?"   
  
Harry glared at him. "Of course not. I love Jamie too. I came here to ask you what to do."  
  
"We have no clue," Ron stated.  
  
"All we can say is that we'll be with you, whatever you do," Hermione said, taking Harry's hand in her own. "We'll support you, as long as-"  
  
"I don't go back."  
  
She nodded. "I just couldn't live-"  
  
"I understand." Harry stated.  
  
"Harry," Ron said softly. "Herm's right. We'll help you with anything. But I really don't know what to do. We're talking about You-Know-Who here. He can't really die, now can he?"  
  
"He's not alive," Harry commented. "Things that are not alive cannot die."   
  
"Dumbledore is in charge of the aurors. Go talk to him; he'll know what to do," Hermione explained.   
  
Harry shook his head. "Uh, uh. No way. There is no way in hell I'm going to talk to Dumbledore."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"He'll hate me!" Harry cried. "Dumbledore, god, he has put so much trust in me through my entire life, to know I've done this; it's like absolute betrayal."  
  
"That's pretty much what you've done, and you need to confess to it."  
  
"He's been like a grandfather to me, and look what I've done with it."  
  
"Harry," Hermione began. "If anyone will ever trust you again, it's going to be Dumbledore. If anyone is going to believe that you really have come back to our side, it's Dumbledore. Now you have to put a bit of trust in him before he trusts you."  
  
"Do you trust me?" Harry asked.  
  
Ron and Hermione exchanged a look. "Yes," Ron slowly stated.  
  
"We do."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because you're our best friend," Ron said.  
  
"Because we know that if you ever broke our trust that you would suffer."  
  
Harry nodded. "You'd haunt me, like Morgan haunts me."  
  
"What?"  
  
"She's always here. I see her in everything I do; I see her in Jamie; I see her in memories. I can't get her out of my mind. I wish she'd just go away."  
  
Hermione smiled. "Harry, that's your own guilt talking. Morgan's most likely not haunting you."  
  
"I can't go to Dumbledore," Harry groaned.  
  
"You have to!" Ron shouted. "Or Jamie will die. It's your choice."  
  
"Would you rather admit to what you did, or live with another killing of someone you love?" asked Hermione.  
  
Harry gazed at his feet. "Admit it."  
  
Ron and Hermione nodded. "Then do it. You don't have much time."  
  
"I know, I know." He gave a small smile. "Can I have some breakfast first?"  
  
***  
  
Harry sat in his small townhouse, sorting through papers as Jamie took his nap upstairs. He sat down at the kitchen table, cleaning out the mess of piled bills, notes, and letters. Although it was a boring task, it suddenly seemed a lot more inviting than traveling to Hogwarts to inform Dumbledore of his traitorous acts. He almost wished that he had kept Jamie downstairs; he needed the company.  
  
He looked around the kitchen, smiling to himself. The light blue walls, the white cabinets, the natural wood colored table. Morgan had hated the kitchen. 'It's so ugly!' she had cried. 'When we get married, I'm going to fix up our kitchen, ok?' He had laughed and kissed her and told her to do whatever she wanted. He put his hand on the table. Morgan and I once made love on this table, he remembered. We lit candles and sipped champagne. He recalled her hair, the chocolate curls, that he twirled around his fingers and let bounce back into place.  
  
He brought his attention back to the papers in front of him. Bill, bill, ugh, bill. What was this? It was a small piece of paper, for Morgan, signed by a Dr. Roberts. Dr. Roberts? Harry had heard of him; he was a wizarding doctor who specialized in muggle medicine. What would Morgan want muggle medicine for? She was a pure-blood; she wouldn't have even known about such things. He looked at the paper. A prescription? He tried to read the doctor's messy scrawl. Yes, it was a prescription. For Prozac, 50mg. What was that? Harry almost gasped in realization. Prozac was an anti-depressant. Morgan was clinically depressed? He would have never known. Fifty milligrams; a lot of medicine for such a little person. Prozac? Morgan? Harry's head buzzed, but at the same time, in a weird way, it made sense.   
  
He rose from the table and walked upstairs to his bedroom. He pulled out a drawer from his bedside table, rummaging through it. Then he found what he was looking for: Morgan's journal. Not her research one, but her personal one for her life. He gazed at the last entry, dated a year and three months ago.  
  
August 5, 2007  
I just found out that I'm pregnant today. I told Harry; he doesn't seem to be too happy about it. I love him dearly, but I do hope he comes around. I think he'll make a great father, if he just lets go. Something's been bothering him lately, but I haven't the slightest of what it is. He's pressuring me to get an abortion, but I don't want to. It's not that I'm not pro-choice, I just want this baby. Mine and Harry's. Our child. Can you believe it? Our child. I wish Harry would just get as excited as I am. I think I feel a kick, but I might just be imagining it. He hasn't brought up marriage yet, but I think he will. I wish I knew what's wrong with him; he's been so tense and edgy lately. He's not willing to talk to me lately. I tell him everything about work and my friends, but he just nods and stays silent. He won't tell me what's bothering him. I should investigate on my own.  
  
I went to Dr. Roberts' office today. He told me I can't stay on my medication during my pregnancy, which I hate. I already feel down. I want to tell Harry about this, but he couldn't understand. He doesn't have this problem, lucky him. I told him to hide all the knives and scissors for the next eight months, but he just looked at me funny. I don't know if he did it, and I don't want to check. Another thing that is bothering me about Harry is that he never cries anymore. When we were first becoming a couple he used to cry a lot, over his parents and such. Now he doesn't at all. He's hard, cold. Maybe I should recommend him to go to Dr. Roberts', at least for therapy. Maybe he'd start to feel better.  
  
Ok, I know that was a kick. You're a feisty fellow, aren't you? I wonder if you're a boy or a girl. If you're a girl, we'll name you after my mother, Anastasia. Anastasia Lillian Potter, isn't that pretty? Or, if you're a boy, James Gregory Potter, after Harry's dad and my dad for the middle name. Do you like that? I guess I'm nuts thinking that you're going to actually answer me.  
  
I had a nightmare last night, about the day my parents were killed. They were both aurors, and we had just moved here from Australia about six months earlier. I felt ill that night, so I stayed home. I was only sixteen. I wasn't there, but I can still hear my parents' and twelve year old brother's screams as Voldemort attacked them on the street walking from the movie theater to home. He killed a few muggles too, innocent muggles. I guess that's why I do what I do; to protect the innocent. It's all I think I can live for anymore.  
  
Work is frustrating me. I'm so close to creating the counter-curses to the Imperius Curse and Avada Kedavra, but I am having problems with the Cruciatus Curse. It's so horrid and just plain evil. We've been working with rats, but I still hate to perform that curse on them, just for research. It's so horrible cruel. I don't want to think about this anymore. It's making me feel worse than I already do. Think happier thoughts. You know that Hermione and Ron haven't settled on a date yet? They've been dating for nine years now, four of them spent engaged. That makes me wonder, when is Harry going to ask me? I certainly want to marry him, but I think he's never going to pop the question? (Also, who made up that phrase? I hate it!) Do you think it's that out of the ordinary to have a white and yellow color scheme for a wedding? I'll have to talk to Harry. That is, if he wants to talk.  
  
-Morgan  
  
Harry stared at the entry, his mouth open. Morgan- she had nightmares too. She wanted to marry him. She had LOVED him. He had seen her imperfect side, shattering the delicate picture of her in his mind. She had been perfect, beautiful, brilliant, but now he knew that she had been human. And one of the few people in the world who could begin to understand him. And he killed her. He had whispered the words, those two horrible words, and taken life from Morgan. His stomach felt sick with guilt and horrible grief. Not only had he killed her, he had been her lover. She had loved him. She had wanted to mother Jamie. And he had taken all that away from her.  
  
He walked upstairs to the nursery and picked Jamie out of his crib. Jamie looked at his father inquisitively. "We're going to Hogwarts," he said.  
  
***  
  
Hogwarts didn't look any different than it did when he attended the school. The Whomping Willow was still there, as violent looking as ever. The castle itself had not changed; it looked exactly as it did ten years ago. Harry noticed Hagrid's cabin and decided to say hello to his friend whom he had not spoken to in ten years.  
  
"Hagrid?" Harry called out, knocking on the door. Jamie smiled and reached out to knock on the door too.   
  
A huge man with a long, tangled beard answered the door. "'Ello."  
  
"Hagrid, it's me," Harry greeted. "Harry."  
  
The man's eyes widened with excitement. "It's been ten 'ears, 'Arry."  
  
"I know, I know."  
  
Hagrid looked down at the bundle in Harry's arms. "Is that your son?"  
  
Harry nodded and grinned. "Yes, this is Jamie Potter. Jamie," he said, directing his attention towards the baby. "This is Hagrid."  
  
Jamie giggled and waved. "He looks just like you, 'Arry," Hagrid commented. "Where is his mother?"  
  
"Dead," Harry answered, looking down at the floor. "She died about six months ago."  
  
Hagrid patted Harry on the back. " I'm sorry."  
  
"Her name was Morgan Andrews," Harry continued. "She had curly hair, just like Jamie. See?" He ran a hand through Jamie's curly locks. Harry must have pulled on a tangle, because Jamie started wailing. "I'm sorry," Harry whispered, his eyes watering.  
  
Hagrid took Jamie from Harry and sat Harry down. The baby stopped crying and began to play with Hagrid's beard. "Do you want to see Fang?" Hagrid asked. Jamie nodded and clapped his hands.  
  
"No," Harry insisted, standing up. "I need to go and see Professor Dumbledore. I thought he might like to see Jamie too."  
  
"You'll come back?" Hagrid questioned.  
  
"Yes, I will," Harry promised, taking Jamie from Hagrid. Jamie pouted a bit, but smiled at his father. "Goodbye."  
  
"'Bye 'Arry."   
  
Harry took Jamie and walked across the grounds to the castle, entering through the front door.   
  
The inside of the castle looked the same, except for the people in it. He saw so many children run around, all children he didn't recognize (except he could pick out a fiery headed Weasley out of the crowd.) He didn't know hardly any of them, but he could see himself in all of them. He could see Hermione's bossiness, her brilliance in several of the members of the crowd. He could see Ron's temper or his own long gone bravery in them. He could see it in their eyes. While these children were all different and unique, it was amazing how much you could relate to them, almost as if they were a different version of yourself.   
  
A few girls saw Jamie and walked over to get a better look. Soon Harry was in almost a mob, all holding Jamie and talking to him.  
  
"He's so cute!" a girl with long red hair cried.  
  
"What's his name?" asked a girl who looked vaguely familiar. Harry smirked when he recognized her. She's Cho Chang's daughter, he thought.  
  
"Jamie."  
  
Jamie loved the attention. He cooed and giggled and clapped his hands, making all the girls laugh. He's going to such a heartbreaker when he gets older, Harry thought with a smile.   
  
"Ahem," came a voice from outside the mob. The crowd parted, letting Harry have a full view of the person with the voice. "Potter, how nice to see you again."  
  
"You too, Professor Snape," he answered.  
  
Snape smiled politely. "And what is your business here?"  
  
"I need to speak to Dumbledore."  
  
"Dumbledore is busy."  
  
"It's an emergency."  
  
Snape glared at Harry. "Who might this be?" he asked, pointing to Jamie.  
  
"My son, James," Harry answered proudly.  
  
Snape's eyes widened. "I was not informed that you had a son."  
  
Harry shrugged. "Not my problem. I really need to speak to Dumbledore, so I'm just going to escort myself to his office. All right?"  
  
Snape looked at Harry, then back at Jamie. "He has your eyes, Potter."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"It wasn't a compliment."  
  
"Snape, just let me go."  
  
Snape made an elaborate movement to get out of the way. "As you wish, Potter and Potter, jr."   
  
"Go to hell," Harry grumbled as he made his way down the hallway to Dumbledore's office. "Lemon drop," he muttered. The door swung open and Harry walked down to the room.  
  
It was as he remembered it, Fawkes in his cage and the sorting hat on its stool. "Professor?" he called out.  
  
"Oh, Harry, hello," said the old man. He walked through the door behind Harry, startling him. "It's been a long time.  
  
"Yes, it has."  
  
Dumbledore sat down in his chair. "Is that Jamie?   
  
"Yes."  
  
"He's a very sweet child."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Dumbledore smiled. "Now, Harry, what is the reason for your visit? You must admit, it is odd to see an old student after not communicating with him for ten years."  
  
"Hermione told me to come," Harry admitted.  
  
"Miss Granger is a very wise woman; obviously you find her advice valuable. Now, why did she inform you to speak with me?"  
  
Harry sat down in a chair facing Dumbledore. "This is hard. I don't know exactly how to tell you this, but-"  
  
"You've been a spy for Voldemort for five years and have killed several innocent people?"  
  
Harry opened his mouth. "How, how…"  
  
"I have my ways, Harry."  
  
"Oh. How long have you known?"  
  
"Years."  
  
"Why haven't you said anything?"  
  
Dumbledore sighed. "Because I have a tendency to give people trust. And because Morgan Andrews has faith in you."  
  
"Morgan?"  
  
"Harry, Morgan knew you were a death eater long before they night you performed Avada Kedavra on her. You lived with her for years; you must have known how intelligent she was."  
  
"I guess I underestimated her."  
  
"I guess you did. Tell me Harry, why did you exactly come here today?"  
  
"He told me to kill Jamie."  
  
"Ah," Dumbledore said. "And you can't."  
  
Harry clutched Jamie to him. "No, he's my son. I love him."  
  
"And you want out."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Harry, do you know what the price is for treason?"  
  
"Death," Harry whispered, hanging his head.  
  
"Slow and painful death," Dumbledore said. "It used to be a dementor's kiss, but then the dementors went to the dark side."  
  
Harry felt a chill run down his spine. "I deserve that."  
  
Dumbledore chuckled. "Most likely, Harry, but I never trusted someone I didn't believe in. And I trust you."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because I once loved you as one loves a son. Because Morgan loves you. Because Jamie loves you."  
  
"What should I do?" Harry asked. "Draco and I want out."  
  
Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "Draco Malfoy is dead, Harry."  
  
"What?" he cried. "I just saw him yesterday!"   
  
"Last night, Draco committed suicide."   
  
"That can't be."  
  
"He wrote a suicide note; would you like to hear it?"  
  
"You have it?"  
  
"A copy of it."  
  
"Read it."  
  
Dumbledore cleared his throat.  
  
I'm sorry. I'm sorry dad, but I couldn't live any longer. Ginny, my love, I'll be joining you shortly, and that fills my heart with joy. Harry- get out while you can. I wouldn't wish this on anyone.  
  
-Draco Malfoy   
  
Dumbledore put the note down.  
  
"Shit," Harry swore, burying his face in his hands. "Draco."  
  
"Could I hold the baby?" Dumbledore asked. Harry wordlessly handed Jamie over to Dumbledore. The baby smiled and clapped his hands. "My, he looks exactly as you did at his age, except that his hair is curly, and he has Morgan's nose."  
  
"That reminds me, how did you know Morgan?" he asked.  
  
"She's an auror, remember. That's how I know her."  
  
"Oh," Harry said softly. "Know her?"  
  
"Know her?"  
  
"But she's dead."  
  
Dumbledore smiled, but didn't answer.  
  
The aroma of cinnamon and pumpkin filled the room. Harry felt the paranoid sensation that someone was watching him, other than Dumbledore. He slowly turned around in his chair.  
  
There stood a short woman, with blue-gray eyes, a bunny nose, and dark brown, curly hair. She smiled. "Hello, Harry."  
  
  
  



End file.
